


Re-enactment

by RedOrchid



Category: Bandom
Genre: Baby's First Bandomfic, Fanfic to the Rescue!, M/M, Meta, You Can Always Blame Pete
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2008-11-10
Updated: 2008-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-11 00:22:21
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,774
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/472367
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RedOrchid/pseuds/RedOrchid
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Brendon should not believe everything he reads on the Internet. Especially when Pete Wentz sends him links to sexy fanfiction starring him and Ryan, and Brendon finds that he kind of wants to try it out.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Re-enactment

**Author's Note:**

> Baby's first Bandom fic. LOL.

“You should have sex with me.”

Ryan looks up from the book he’s reading to eye a bouncing Brendon at the foot of his hotel bed.

“ _Excuse_ me?”

Brendon obviously interprets the question as an invitation to throw himself down next to Ryan and snuggle up against his side, placing a warm hand on his stomach.

“Sex. With me. As in you should have it.”

“Sure Bren,” Ryan deadpans. “Sounds like a fabulous idea.”

“Really?” The exclamation is loud and giddy, and before he has time to react, Ryan finds himself attacked by an overly eager Brendon Urie sticking a hand up his shirt.

And while he’s still frozen in shock over _that_ development, Brendon’s lips go for a dual-front strategy, coming down hard and insistent against his own, and, _wow_ , what the fuck? And, _oh_ , that new lip gloss really does make the skin of your lips sensuously silky, and…

“Meh-um!” Ryan protests, pushing hard against Brendon and managing to roll them both off the bed into a painful, crashed pile of limbs on the carpeted floor. There are twin exclamations of ‘ow!’ before Ryan manages to untangle himself and roll away to put a comforting distance between himself and the other boy.

“Brendon, what the fuck are you doing?”

His friend scrambles into a half-sitting position and looks back at him, genuinely bewildered.

“What do you mean, ‘what the fuck am I doing?’” he shoots back, rubbing the back of his right arm gingerly. “I asked, and you said yes! What did you think I was doing?”

Ryan’s eyes widen. “You were serious?” he exclaims, swallowing into the silence that is beginning to grow between them as Brendon holds his gaze. “Bren—”

“Forget it.” The other boy moves away, getting to his feet, movements quick and jerky. “I’m heading over to Jon and Spencer’s. Just… just forget I brought it up, okay?”

The door slams a second later, and Ryan feels a tense breath go out of his lungs. He closes his eyes for a moment and raises two fingers to his lips, brushing lightly against the wet, beginning-to-swell feeling of them in wonder before quickly lifting himself off the floor and heading out the door.

***

“Since when are you gay?”

Three heads shoot up at the question, one of them dropping back down quickly, trying to hide a furious blush.

“Jesus, Ross. I said forget about it.”

“No,” Ryan says resolutely, moving to stand directly in front of the TV, ignoring Jon’s cry of protest as his warrior immediately gets spectacularly slaughtered by a fire-wielding monster. “Answer the question.”

“And now there’s bitchy,” Brendon mutters under his breath before looking up. “Why are you bitchy? This is not supposed to happen this way.”

“What!” Ryan cries. “You practically jumped me out of the blue! What the fuck did you _think_ would happen?”

Brendon looks at him for a long, burning moment, and then he’s catapulting forward, grabbing Ryan’s head with both hands and pushing him painfully into the opposite wall, mouth drowning out any sort of protest Ryan had been about to make by pressing their lips roughly together.

“Whoa!”

Spencer drops his control and practically flies to his feet, even as Ryan manages to wrench free from Brendon and escape to the other side of the coffee table. Brendon makes a move to follow, but one look at Spencer makes him hesitate, eyes darting from the drummer to Ryan, and then to Jon, confusion turning into hurt and then to insecurity.

“Brendon!” Ryan says loudly, pulling the other boy’s attention back to him with a snap of head. “I repeat my question: what the fuck am I missing here?”

Brendon looks so genuinely bewildered that Spencer can’t help reaching out and pulling him onto the couch. A moment later, Jon is there as well, moving in close, throwing an annoyed look over his shoulder at Ryan, who rolls his eyes but doesn’t waver.

“Bren,” Jon says softly. “What’s happening here, man?”

Brendon looks up at Jon for a moment and frowns, as though he’s trying to make sense of something that has suddenly fallen apart in front of him for no good reason. His eyes move to Ryan again, who is still standing, arms crossed in a defensive position, and then back to Jon, re-evaluating.

Jon barely has time to react as Brendon grabs the back of his head, and ends up with a very wet cheek as he turns his face at the last minute. Spencer’s eyes widen, and he backs away as well, raising his hands in the patented wow-calm-down-dude gesture.

Brendon’s hand drops from Jon’s neck, and he practically tumbles onto his feet. “What’s _wrong_ with you guys!”

“Erm?” Jon looks completely perplexed. Next to him, Spencer is sporting a rather creepily similar expression.

“You’re reacting all wrong!”

This time, it’s Ryan who is the quickest, blocking the doorway as Brendon reaches for the handle.

“Bren,” he says softly. “Sit down, look at me and fucking _explain_ , okay, because we’re obviously not getting what you think is supposed to happen here.”

Brendon just looks at him.

Then he shakes his head.

“No,” he says softly, raising a hand to caress a loose strand of hair out of Ryan’s face, a tight smile spreading on his lips as Ryan pulls back reflexively. “It’s nothing. Just—just forget about it, okay?”

Before Ryan can stop him, he is out the door, the wood falling shut with a solemn _‘thud’_ behind him.

***

“Brendon, Bren… hey, you awake?”

Brendon doesn’t answer, just turns over on his back, extending an arm and folding away the blanket in silent invitation. He feels Ryan hesitate, and then the side of the mattress dips, and a warm shape settles down next to him, letting itself be pulled into Brendon’s arms, dark-haired head searching its habitual spot against Brendon’s shoulder. A hand moves hesitantly over his bare chest, coming to a stop right above his heart, stroking the skin there with small, mindless movements.

“I’m sorry.”

The words are quiet, scarcely more than a whisper against the skin of Brendon’s neck.

“Me too. I didn’t mean for it to go that way.”

The silence spreads as they curl closer together, one of Ryan’s legs working its way in between Brendon’s, a cold foot stealing heat off of Brendon’s calves.

“How did you mean for it to go?” Ryan whispers, the hand on Brendon’s chest studiously keeping up its little rhythm of spiralling patterns. Brendon swallows.

“It doesn’t matter,” he says quietly. “I was wrong. It was stupid.”

“Tell me anyway,” Ryan murmurs against him. “Please,” he adds, when the minutes tick by and Brendon still hasn’t begun to speak. Brendon groans and throws his free arm over his eyes, blocking his face from view as though he wants to hide somewhere.

“It was fucking Pete’s fault, okay?” he says finally, not looking at Ryan. Ryan smiles in the darkness.

“Isn’t it always? Come on, Brendon, what did he do?”

Brendon mumbles something undistinguishable into the pillow.

“Sorry, what?”

“He sent me these links, alright?” Brendon mutters. “With stories that the fangirls write about us. And I was bored, so I read some of them. And then I thought, huh…” The rest of the sentence is drowned in a great burst of laughter from the slightly taller boy at his side.

“Pete sent you fanfiction?” he demands, shaking slightly against Brendon’s frame. “He sent you _fanfiction_ and it made you want to be gay for the band?” Brendon just huffs.

“No, it didn’t make me want to be gay for the band,” he protests. “It’s just—We’ve been on tour for a couple of years now, and there have been quite a few girls… and it’s been fun and all, but—”

“But, what?”

“I’ve never had sex like that,” Brendon admits, eyes fixed on the ceiling. “Not like in those stories. I’ve never felt anything close to what they describe.”

“Brendon…”

“I know, I know. Stupid, right? Fantasies and fiction and not real and all that. It just…”

“You wanted it.”

“Yeah.”

“Why didn’t you just say so?”

Brendon squirms uncomfortably. “I don’t know,” he confesses. “Temporary insanity? I just got caught up in it, I guess. You know, like in the episode of _Friends_ where they get the free porn and are all confused when the pizza girl just drops off their food and doesn’t offer to sleep with them?” Ryan snickers, burying his head a little deeper against Brendon’s shoulder.

“So,” he says, a definite teasing tone to his voice now. “In these stories, what would I do when you jump on my bed and tell me that I should have sex with you?”

“Not funny, Ryan.”

“Oh, I disagree. It’s really, really funny. Now tell me.”

“I don’t think so.”

Ryan rolls a little, draping himself halfway on top of his friend, propping his head up on a bony elbow. “Oh, come on, Bren. What did the fangirls have me do? Just give it up already.” Brendon just huffs again and shakes his head, and Ryan can’t resist, really can’t stop himself from dropping his head to the smooth column of Brendon’s throat, tracing his lips across the skin.

“Something like this?” he murmurs, letting his teeth graze the muscle in Brendon’s shoulder, feeling it tense under his touch. “Tell me.”

“Ryan…”

“Yes?” he asks, shifting his weight slightly, the leg between Brendon’s moving up, pressing insistently against the junction of the other boy’s thighs, causing Brendon’s breath to hitch in his throat.

“Why?” he demands, and Ryan recognises a faint hint of anger in the familiar voice. “Why do you want to know? I think it’s my turn to ask what the fuck is going on here.”

“Just curious.” The hand on Brendon’s chest is wandering now, trailing teasing patterns along the ribs, moving downwards.

“Curious of what? What do you want, Ryan?”

“I want to know what the stories said.”

Brendon stills beneath him for a long, tense moment, and then he moves—slowly, deliberately, putting pressure on Ryan’s side until they are rolling across the sheets, positions inversing.

“You really are a tease,” he murmurs, breath hot against Ryan’s ear. “I wonder what else they were right about.” Some of his stage persona is bleeding into his voice, his face—his weight pinning Ryan to the mattress in a way that, frankly, makes him a little worried. And rather disturbingly hot, which makes him more worried. Then, as though someone has just flipped a switch, it is gone again, and Brendon is looking down at him with an expression of open insecurity.

“Jesus, Ryan,” he exhales, letting his head fall down to press against Ryan’s shoulder. “I’m not good at this. Just tell me ‘yes’ or ‘no’ already.” Without waiting for an answer, he twists his head, a hand coming up to tangle in Ryan’s hair, pulling him close, but not quite touching. His hips grind into Ryan’s once, twice, jerking a little as though he can’t help himself, breath hitching in his throat. “Fuck, Ryan, don’t say no.”

“Okay.” It is hardly a breath, hardly any sound at all, but Brendon evidentially gets the message, because the next moment, his lips are there, pressing hot and hard against Ryan’s, coaxing a surprised half-moan from his throat as the kiss deepens. The sound seems to travel from his mouth to Brendon’s, because shortly after it escapes, Brendon is moaning as well, thrusting jerkily against his hips and rubbing their still-mostly-soft erections together through the thin material of their boxers. Ryan’s hands go to Brendon’s back automatically, stroking aimlessly along the line of his spine.

“Tell me what happens,” he breathes, coming up for air before Brendon twists his head and kisses him again, hot and needy, as though searching for something. “In the stories. What do you want? How does it work?”

Brendon laughs breathlessly against his neck, grinding down against him once more. “I don’t know,” he manages. “It’s usually a kiss and then just a blur of desire from there. Instinctual. Like it was always meant to be. Half the stories have us coming in our shorts already at this point—What?” he exclaims as Ryan bursts into muffled laughter against his shoulder.

“That’s—that’s so Disney,” Ryan manages, shaking with mirth. “Seriously, Brendon. When have you ever known sex to work like that?” Brendon breaks away from him, pouting slightly.

“I haven’t,” he says evenly. “That was sort of the point of this experiment, if you’ll remember. And don’t say bad things about Disney.”

“I’m sorry,” Ryan replies, pressing little kisses of asked forgiveness into Brendon’s shoulder. “I won’t say another mocking word, I swear. But seriously, you need to tell me what you want me to do here.”

Brendon makes a small, whimpering sound in the back of his throat and rolls away, coming to rest on his back. “Maybe this is a really stupid idea.”

“Maybe,” Ryan concedes, flipping around to lean over the other boy again. “Or maybe it’s not, and there’s just one way to find out, so start talking.”

“You’re serious?”

Ryan just nods, and Brendon takes a deep breath, rolling them over to face each other, side by side. “Okay. Lose the shorts.”

A quick shimmy later, two pair of underwear lie discarded on the floor, and Brendon’s hand comes up to press at Ryan’s hip, nudging him closer, spreading his legs a little with one of his thighs. “So,” he says, “it usually starts like this.” And he leans in, kissing Ryan softly, teasingly, sliding his lips against Ryan’s in fluid, wet movements that have Ryan’s lips parting of their own accord, seeking more contact, more pressure. Brendon smiles.

“It’s after a show,” he begins, voice trailing softly through the air, humming a little, a few notes from different songs here and there. “Or in the bus or in some kind of freak alternate universe where we all went to college and work in a coffee shop or whatever, but usually, it’s after a show.” He moves his leg a little, adding pressure, and Ryan can feel it start, the slow burn of arousal pooling deep in his gut.

“What happens at the show?”

“Usually nothing much,” Brendon replies, sliding his lips along the column of Ryan’s throat as he continues. “It’s just the starting point. Fans screaming, adrenaline pumping, that sort of thing. Oh, and we do _Lying_ , with the speech and almost-kiss from _Circus_ , no matter what tour we’re on. And one of us doesn’t quite want to pull away this time.”

“Mm-hm,” Ryan contributes, rolling Brendon onto his back and starting to kiss his way down across his chest. “And then?”

“The one who didn’t pull away stumbles off the stage and proceeds to press the other one up against a wall,” Brendon states, his breathing coming a little shallower now. “There always needs to be a wall. It’s the law or something.” Ryan replies by lining up their hips and pressing down, hard. Brendon groans.

“So, do I fuck you against this wall?” Ryan murmurs, taking one nipple between his teeth and hardening the pressure until Brendon cries out, hips bucking beneath his own.

“Sometimes,” he breathes. “Or it will be me pinning you there, kissing you, tasting you, feeling you harden against me until you beg for me to get you off.” His hands are sliding against Ryan’s sides, the right one pushing its way in between their bodies to where they are pressing together, hardening slowly against one another. “You will moan out my name,” he continues, and Ryan does just that, moaning his name soft and needy in his ear as Brendon’s hand half-closes around both their cocks and begins stroking. “And I will fall to my knees, practically ripping the buttons on your pants to get to feel your cock in my mouth, sliding against my tongue…”

“Jesus, Brendon,” Ryan groans, all the way hard now as he thrusts into the other boy’s hand, feeling their skin slide together. “For a former choir boy, you have a fucking filthy mouth.”

Brendon replies by kissing him, hard and wet, and Ryan can feel the heat rise between them now, building into something more than just curiosity, or even the simple desire to get off. “You love it,” Brendon whispers, and yeah, yes, Ryan kind of does—loves the way the syllables flow low and rough from Brendon’s throat, across the wet, swollen lips that match his own, slide for slide. And Brendon’s tongue— _Jesus_. The last few girlfriends trained him well, that’s one thing for sure.

“After that, there are a few different possibilities,” Brendon states softly, letting go of Ryan’s lips momentarily to trail his teeth along the skin of his neck. “I might stay on my knees, sucking you off, taking you deep into my throat and wrapping my lips around the base of your cock until you fist your hands in my hair and come, hot and hard as I swallow you down.”

Ryan moans again, hands travelling to Brendon’s head subconsciously, tangling his fingers in the dark strands and pressing down, down, because, yes, he wants that. That sounds like a pretty fabulous option right about now.

“Or,” Brendon says with a chuckle, resisting the tug of Ryan’s fingers while stroking them both a little faster, “I get to my feet, turn you around, press you roughly against the above-mentioned sex wall and fuck you, right there, in a hallway, or a bathroom stall or whatever semi-public place this wall happens to be located in." Ryan’s cock is starting to throb, because, _God_ , he shouldn’t be getting off on this, but the pictures Brendon is painting with his voice are flashing before Ryan’s eyes in vivid Technicolor. With accompanying soundtracks. Ryan can practically feel the slow burn of Brendon’s cock as it enters him, or the wet slide of tongue as his friend falls to his knees before him. Without thinking much about it, he lifts a leg, wrapping it snugly around the low curve right above Brendon’s ass, rocking with him, adding pressure.

“So, second option?” Brendon asks through panted breaths, his voice nowhere near the velvety control it displayed just moments ago. “Good choice. It’s supposed to make your toes curl and your vision turn white and fucking explosions go off behind your eyelids and shit. Or it will if I can manage to do this right. Hang on a sec.” He scrambles off the bed, heading for his bag that’s been thrown into a padded armchair.

“Aha!” he exclaims, pulling several condoms and a small tube from one of the side compartments. “Okay, we’re all set.”

“You bought _lube_ and brought it with you from the bus?”

“Well, sure. You know, in the stories, there are always baskets full of complimentary stuff in the hotel rooms that just happens to be ideal for gay sex—massage oils, lotions, all kinds of shit—but this is obviously a bad excuse for a hotel room, because there’s nothing like that anywhere. Believe me, I checked.” Ryan cracks up at that, his laughter ringing across the room.

“Fuck, this is surreal.”

Brendon looks slightly annoyed.

“Well, we could use saliva only,” he says, “but somehow, I doubt that that works as well as the stories claim, and since we’re doing two hundred miles on the bus tomorrow, I’d rather not take any chances. Story-Brendon’s ass tends to be very sore after you fuck him without lube.” He climbs back into bed, rolling atop Ryan and goes back to kissing him until Ryan stops laughing and they’re both grinding helplessly against each other, breaths mingling as they try to take in shallow gulps of oxygen.

“Wait, I thought you were fucking me,” Ryan groans, his leg back around Brendon’s back, pulling them together.

“I am,” Brendon replies, gritting his teeth as Ryan’s hand finds his cock and starts with the same, maddening rhythm they found together earlier. “But as soon as I’ve screwed your brains out, you should do the same to me. It’s only fair. And,” he adds, pressing a wet kiss to Ryan’s neck before pulling away slightly, “according to the stories, you’re an incredible top. Like, a total sex god.” He fumbles for the lube, and Ryan hears the cap pop open. “So, how do you want to do this?”

Ryan’s brain is still desperately trying to process the fact that he’s in a hotel room with his best friend, about to have sex. With his best friend. Who is a guy. And who expects him to fuck him before the night is over. In total Sex God capacity that results in curled toes and Disney fireworks behind Brendon’s eyelids. _Jesus._

“You choose,” he pants, trying very hard not to hyperventilate. “Just, go slow, alright?” Brendon smiles.

“That’s not what you’re supposed to say,” he informs flippantly, spreading a dollop of clear, shiny gel over the fingers of his right hand. “Usually, it’s all ‘Fuck, Brendon, I need you now, slam your giant dick into me against this sexy, gritty wall!’” In spite of the nervousness, Ryan bursts out laughing at that, and immediately feels a lot better about the whole getting-fucked thing. This is _Brendon_ after all. Brendon, who he’s known for close to four years now. Who he trusts with his life (if not with his Skittles) and who is about the least brutal person he knows. Fuck, friggin’ Bambi would probably treat him with less compassion.

“Sorry,” he manages, still chuckling as he and Brendon break away from another heated kiss. “You’ll have to give me the script so I can study my lines next time.” Brendon just smiles, and Ryan feels a spark go off somewhere inside him as his own words register. _Next time_ …

“Here, open this. I supposedly have this super power where I’m able to open condom packets with only my teeth, but since I’ve never actually done it in real life, I’m afraid I’ll rip it.” Ryan laughs again, opening the small square with both his hands and holding it back out to Brendon. Brendon just looks at him expectantly, and Ryan rolls his eyes. _Of course_.

His hands close around Brendon’s cock, slowly pushing the rubber down over the sensitive skin, and Brendon makes a soft hissing sound in his throat, the flippant humour melting away on his face to be replaced with something darker, something needy and wanting and raw. He shifts forward, leaning down slightly, and then Ryan feels slick fingers slide between his legs, searching and probing, making him tense up at the unfamiliar sensations.

“Hey, relax,” Brendon whispers in his ear, taking Ryan’s lips in a hard kiss in order to… something. Distract him maybe, not that there really is any chance of that happening when Brendon’s fingers are fucking _penetrating his ass_. “It’s probably weird or painful at first, but it’s supposed to get better, like _a lot_ ”. He pushes harder, and two fingers find their way into Ryan. And it’s weird. Really weird. And not at all nice. He squirms against Brendon, half-trying to pull away, when Brendon pushes harder, and, okay, _ouch!_ , but then it’s like he’s got in past some sort of barrier, because the uncomfortable feeling fades, and in its place is a subtly pleasurable sensation he thinks he probably won’t have a problem with. It’s not exactly toe-curling, however, and he tells Brendon as much, watching his friend frown in concentration as his moves his fingers slightly. And—oh, _oh_.

“Jesus, how are you supposed to curl your fingers in the right way without twisting your fucking hand off?” Brendon snaps above him, leaning in for another kiss, and then one more, as he moves his fingers experimentally inside Ryan, searching for the right spot. He brushes across it once, twice, and Ryan moans into their kiss, his back arching off the white sheets. When they break apart, Ryan is panting, and Brendon looks as though Christmas has come early and someone decided to run a week-long marathon of all his favourite Disney movies on top of that. He looks fucking delighted, and Ryan can’t help but lean in and kiss him, because, Christ, that’s a gorgeous smile.

It gets steadily better after that, and when Brendon finally eases himself into him, they have both been reduced to a fluid compilation of mindless limbs, moving together in a jerking, desperate rhythm while Brendon babbles incoherently under his breath about how, _God,_ this feels fantastic, and how could the fangirls know how fantastic this was—they’re fucking _girls_ , okay—and Ryan just moves with him, running one hand along Brendon’s back and down to his ass, squeezing firmly, bringing Brendon closer, deeper, because, _fuck,_ this feels good.

The other hand is wrapped tightly around his own cock, jerking himself off in what-is-meant-to-be-in-sync-with-Brendon’s-thrusts-but-really-isn’t-because-that’s-far-too-advanced-for-Ryan’s-sense-of-coordination-right-now-holy-shit, and when he comes, there aren’t any Disney fireworks of blue and pink and gold going off behind his closed eyelids—but there is a humming blackness at the edge of his vision that he’s only felt a handful of times before, and the sensation of Brendon inside of him, fucking him through the tremors as his body jerks and spills and pulsates for what seems to be forever is pretty friggin’ amazing and leaves him a little bit in awe. And when Brendon groans into the side of his neck, collapsing hot and heavy on top of Ryan, fighting for breath, the feeling builds and grows, and Ryan feels rather ridiculously happy right now.

He rolls gingerly to the side, helping Brendon slide bonelessly off and out of him, wincing only a little as they break apart. They curl together, snuggling in spite of the sweat and slickness and, yeah, okay, that is a little gross, but then Brendon’s mouth is back on his, and it somehow doesn’t matter all that much anymore. They kiss for a long time, drifting slowly towards unconsciousness in each other’s arms until Ryan remembers something.

“Hey, Bren,” he whispers against the other boy’s lips, getting a mumbled ‘hrm?’ in response. “In the stories, what happens next?”

Brendon doesn’t open his eyes, but a beautiful smile spreads across his lips, causing Ryan’s heart to startle a little, just a tiny bit. “Now, we sleep,” he murmurs, voice heavy with impending slumber. “And then we wake up. And then you fuck me in the shower.”

“And then?”

“And then we go back on the bus, and I’ll blow you in the bunks while Jon and Spencer play _Halo_ in the lounge. Or in the lounge while Jon and Spencer fuck in the bunks, whatever happens first.”

Ryan can’t help the smile that seems to bubble up inside of him at that description. “And then?”

Brendon opens his eyes, slowly and smilingly, the dark brown meeting Ryan’s own in the dim light. “Then, Ryan Ross,” he whispers softly, “we fall deeply in love and live happily ever after, with tons of money from our dozen platinum records, a Canadian marriage licence, a trio of adorable, adopted, Chinese babies and a big-ass country home with lots of exotic animals grazing in pastures all around it, and where Jon and Spencer can visit all the time and we go horse-back riding together in the afternoons while all the adopted children play in the sunny yard with their big pile of miniature musical instruments and happy, fluffy, barking puppies.”

Ryan blinks, and then the smile on his face is widening, threatening to split his face into two.

“Fluffy, barking puppies, huh?” he asks, deadpan. Brendon just closes his eyes and snuggles happily closer.

“Lots of puppies,” he yawns, and Ryan can tell he’s falling asleep. “It’s like, the law. Like the gritty wall sex. There’s no escape.”

“Well, in that case.”

“There’ll be puppies?”

Ryan grins. “Yeah, Brendon, there’ll be puppies.”

“Cool.”

He can feel Brendon drift off before he hears the other boy’s breathing slow down to an even stream of warm air that brushes softly across Ryan’s chest. “And sunshine, don’t forget the sunshine,” Brendon mumbles, and then he’s gone, fast asleep with his head against Ryan’s chest, arm and leg curled tightly around Ryan’s torso like a small, clingy monkey.

“Don’t worry, Bren,” Ryan whispers softly into his friend’s tousled hair. “I’ll get you sunshine too.”

Smile still etched firmly on his lips, and with a boneless, sated calm flowing through his body, he buries his face a bit deeper in the soft pillows and lets himself be carried off to sleep.

THE END


End file.
